


nearly witches (ever since we met...)

by nyanarchy



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bisexual Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Gay GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Kinda, Language of Flowers, Love Confessions, M/M, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Short & Sweet, Songfic, because thats mlm culture u gotta admit, but then i just let my silly gay brain do whatever, greek myths as a plot device, heavily inspired by nearly witches by p!atd in the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29916144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyanarchy/pseuds/nyanarchy
Summary: “Do you know anything about flower language?” Dream had asked on a calm midnight phone call.“Not really. Why?”“I saw this thing,” he scoffed, “about hyacinths being the ‘gay flower.’ I don’t get it.”George shifts in his seat, “Why would I know?”A pause, “I’m gonna look it up. We’ll learn something new together.”--or, alternatively: the inherent romantic tension of reading greek myths
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound
Comments: 1
Kudos: 111





	nearly witches (ever since we met...)

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: i dont actually think dream is bi nor do i think george is gay. im not trying to speculate anything, this is just for creative and entertainment purposes. :D
> 
> dm me on twitter @ranbooiri or shoot me an ask on tumblr @nyanarchy if you have any questions or fic requests

Ever since George met Dream, his idea of a ‘relaxing evening’ became spending hours on phone calls with the other man – ones that, more often than not, would bleed into the early morning. He never imagined that he would meet someone like Dream; someone who’s quiet company would offer the exact feeling of home George had been chasing since he was a kid. Someone who he didn’t even need to  _ speak _ to in order to understand, someone who he was perfectly content sitting in silence with. It was rarely silent with Dream, and, not with much gusto, George realizes it isn’t quite silent without Dream either – ever since they met, Dream has had his heart set on haunting George, his laughter and quick jokes sticking to the inside of George’s brain like honey to the roof of a mouth. 

It’s for these reasons, George supposes, that falling in love with his best friend was the easiest thing he’d ever done. He never understood what people meant when they said they just ‘knew’ that their partner was the right one – not until Dream had tumbled into his life and stolen into George’s affections like they were always supposed to be his. It felt as though there was a small part of his heart that had been saved just for the other: a bigger, softer part of him that he didn’t even know was there until it had been opened. George never thought he could love this much, never guessed he had such a pure and gentle part of himself, but once he knew it was there, he loved  _ everything _ , and he never seemed to run out. 

“That’s the thing about falling in love,” he’d told himself one day, “you don’t just fall in love with the person. You fall in love with the entire world.” 

“Do you know anything about flower language?” Dream had asked on a calm midnight phone call.

“Not really. Why?”

“I saw this thing,” he scoffed, “about hyacinths being the ‘gay flower.’ I don’t get it.” 

George shifts in his seat, “Why would I know?”

A pause, “I’m gonna look it up. We’ll learn something new together.” 

An eye roll from George and a couple taps on Dream’s phone screen later, Dream found himself at the Wikipedia page for the myth of Apollo and Hyacinthus. 

“ In Greek mythology, Hyacinth was a very beautiful Spartan prince and lover of the god Apollo,” Dream read. “Hyacinth was also admired by the God of West wind Zephyrus, the God of the North wind Boreas and also by a mortal man named Thamyris.”

“Damn,” George snorts, “what’s his secret?” 

“Shut up,” Dream laughs, before continuing to read from the webpage, “But Hyacinth chose Apollo over the others. The couple indulged themselves in hunting and climbing steep, rough mountains around Sparta. With Apollo, Hyacinth visited all of Apollo's sacred lands in the chariot drawn by swans. Apollo taught to his lover the use of the bow, of music and the lyre, the art of prophecy, and exercises in the gymnasium.”

“Romantic,” George quips sarcastically. 

“One day, Apollo was teaching him the game of quoit-”

“What the hell is quoit?” 

“I think it’s like, Greek frisbee or something. Stop interrupting!”

“Fine, fine,” George rolls his eyes, “continue.”

“They decided to have a friendly competition by taking turns to throw the discus. Apollo threw first, with such a strength that the discus slit the clouds in the sky. Hyacinth ran behind it to catch it and impress Apollo. But as the discus hit the ground, it bounced back, hitting Hyacinth's head and wounding him fatally. Alternatively, Zephyrus is held responsible for the death of Hyacinth. Jealous that Hyacinth preferred the radiant Apollo, Zephyrus blew Apollo's quoit boisterously off course to kill Hyacinth.”

“What the hell?”

“Hold on, there’s more,” Dream clears his throat, “Apollo's face turned pale as he held his dying lover in his arms. He used all his medicinal skills, and even tried giving ambrosia to heal Hyacinth's wound, but in vain, for he couldn't cure the wound done by the Fates. When Hyacinth died, Apollo wept, blaming himself. He wished to become a mortal and join his lover in his death. However, as that was not possible, Apollo promised that he would always remember Hyacinth in his songs and the music of his lyre. From Hyacinth's blood that was spilled, Apollo created a flower, the hyacinth. This flower, on whose petals Apollo had inscribed the words of despair, "AI AI" – "alas" was considered by the Greeks to be the most beautiful of all flowers.”

“Wow,” George sighs, leaning back in his chair, “that’s sad.” 

“Yeah, it is.” Dream scrolls down a bit, “But on the bright side, the Hyacinth has been adopted by the gay community to be a symbol of romantic love among men.”

“That’s really sweet.” George pauses for a moment, carefully considering his next words with a smirk, “When will  _ you _ give me a hyacinth? Huh, Dream?” 

The other man laughs loudly and goodnaturedly, a brief wheeze escaping his chest. “Fuck off,” he teases, and the flow of conversation moves forward. 

The next time the pair talk about flowers, it’s after a bouquet of roses arrived at George’s doorstep. 

“We went on  _ one _ date and I told her it wasn’t going to work, and now she keeps sending me shit,” George lamented into his phone, holding it in between his cheek and his shoulder while he makes quick work of throwing away the flowers.

“Yikes,” Dream cringes, “she does not know how to take a hint.” 

“Exactly!” He says with exasperation, “and I don’t think I’m even  _ interested _ in women!”

George regrets the words the second they leave his mouth. He hears the hitch of Dream’s breath on the other line, and it takes all his willpower not to hang up right then and there. 

“You’re not?” Is what Dream settles on after a brief moment of processing. 

“I dunno. I never really thought about it until people started bringing it up – I- I guess I never really considered that not liking women was even an option for me. I knew that other people were gay, and I never had issues with it, but I didn’t think it was something  _ I _ could do.” George laughs, “It sounds dumb, I know.”

“No it doesn’t,” Dream says quickly, “I get it. I- um, well, I felt the same way for a while.” 

George can feel his heart stop inside his chest, “You- you did?”

“Yeah,” he lets out a nervous laugh, “I always liked girls, so I thought, like, that was it. I genuinely didn’t think twice about anything I felt about other dudes, because I could date a girl and be fine with it, so  _ obviously _ I was straight. Then I found out what being bisexual was, and I was like ‘ _ Oh, shit. _ ’ So, yeah.” 

“Oh,” George blinks, “when was that? Like, when did you realize, I mean.” 

“Sophomore year.” 

“You- what?!” George splutters, “and you never told me? This whole time?” 

Dream laughs, loud and unapologetic, and it truly is a wonder to hear. “It never came up!” 

“So we’ve both liked dudes this entire time,” George says slowly, “and we just never told each other?”

“Guess so. What, are you excited to have a chance with me now, George?” He teases. 

“I’m hanging up.” 

Flowers don’t get brought up for a while after that. Not much changes between Dream and George, and George had almost forgotten about the hyacinths entirely.

_ Almost.  _

__ _ ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Georgie. :)’  _ The note reads, and George stands there, staring at it for a solid five minutes once he closes his door. The paper in question is attached to a lively bouquet of blue hyacinths, their bright petals staring up at George, a stark contrast to the pink he knows is covering his cheeks. 

His phone rings, “Dream!” He scolds upon answering. 

“Did they come yet?” George can hear the shit-eating grin in his voice, and if he were there, he would kiss it off him. 

“Why did you get me flowers?”

“Not just any flowers, George.  _ Hyacinths _ .”

“I can see that,” he grips his phone in between his cheek and his shoulder as he searches around his apartment, hunting for a vase to put them in. “They’re very pretty, Dream.” 

“I picked them out myself. And I wrote the note myself. I would’ve delivered it myself, too, but-” 

“I get it, Dream,” he laughs, “but  _ why _ ?” 

“Why not?” 

“Dream.” 

“Okay, okay,” he relents with a sigh, “I’m shocked you haven’t put the pieces together yet.” 

George tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling with a giddy smile, and silently thanked whatever god allowed this to happen, only looking back at his phone when the sun shone through the window, poking his eyes. 

“I have!” He can’t believe this is actually happening. “I want to hear you say it, though.” 

He can practically hear Dream rolling his eyes on the other line. “I like you a lot, George. I have for a while now, actually. I want the chance to make you happy, like you deserve, and I just hope you can consider giving me that chance.”

George’s cheeks are beginning to ache from the wide grin spread across his face. All of the love that he’d been keeping – all of the late night phone calls, all of the swapped secrets, the gentle smiles, the whispered teasing – all of it escaped him in the form of a light, airy giggle. 

“God, of course, Dream. Took you long enough.” 

“Oh, like you were gonna make a move first,” Dream teases, grin evident in his tone. 

Months later, George has barely even set foot on American soil when he sees Dream, smile on full display, holding none other than a bouquet of blue hyacinths.


End file.
